


Five Kisses

by Sixthlight



Category: Rivers of London - Ben Aaronovitch
Genre: Beverley Brook (for one drabble), Drunk Kissing, Established Relationship, First Kiss, Gen, Jealousy, M/M, Tumblr Ask Box Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-18
Updated: 2015-11-26
Packaged: 2018-05-02 05:15:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 1,808
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5235578
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sixthlight/pseuds/Sixthlight
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Five (otherwise unrelated) short fics from a Tumblr ask meme.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Sweet Dreams

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: kiss on the forehead.

It’s not often I see Nightingale asleep, excepting the period after he got shot, the year I joined the Folly. When he’s in good health he sleeps far less than I do; it's one of the only outward signs he isn’t the well-preserved forty he appears to be. 

This week, though, he’d come down with one of those colds people like to exaggerate into ‘flu. Not that Nightingale would ever complain, but he looked miserable. And didn’t even have the strength to really protest Dr Walid’s orders to stay home, which is probably why I found him conked out in the coach house, a still-steaming cup of lemon-and-honey on the side-table. When I took a look at the score on the TV, I decided it was better for his health he’d gone to sleep in the middle of the game; England were embarrassing us all. 

I’d been meaning to relax with my game console, but I didn’t have the heart to wake him up, and he was sprawled over the sofa in a way that didn’t leave any room for me. So instead I made sure his blanket wasn’t going to go anywhere - the heating in the coach house isn’t great. I touched the back of my hand to his forehead. No temperature, still; I should text Dr Walid. He’d be pleased. 

Nightingale didn’t stir, or his steady if a little strained breathing lose its rhythm. He looked oddly content. Before I could think about it too hard, I leaned down and kissed him on the forehead, the way I remember my mum doing when I was small and sick, and she was leaving me with a friend or cousin while she went to work.  _You’ll be better before you know it_ , she’d whisper. A certain amount of wishful thinking there, I reckon. 

“You’ll be better before you know it,” I told Nightingale quietly, lower than the roar of the crowd on the TV as England’s defence crumbled yet again. Then I took my leave. 

When I looked back as I closed the door, it seemed like he was smiling. But I think it was just the light from the TV flickering on his face. 


	2. Out of the Ruins

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: "return from the dead" kiss.

Thomas had had some practice at watching people he cared about come back in body bags, or not at all; it just didn’t get any  _easier_  with practice. Which was why he hadn’t intended to stay and watch them dig Peter out of the rubble. There was too much that needed doing, and if he stopped for grief now he’d never start again, not in time to get any of it done. 

Which was also why, when Peter clambered  _out_  of the rubble on entirely the other side of the pile, Thomas - already walking away - was the only one there to see him do it. 

“A little help, please,” was all Peter said upon spotting him, but once Thomas had given him a hand out of his hole - a not entirely steady one - Peter threw an arm around him, and Thomas couldn’t for the life of him resist replying in kind, and pressing his lips against Peter’s cheek, for good measure. Thomas had had some practice with miracles, as well, but this was something beyond. 

“Oh, okay,” said Peter, and kissed him back, not on the cheek; it tasted like ash and brick dust and summer-bright morning sunlight creeping across Russell Square. “If we’re doing that.”

“If you like,” said Thomas. “I think we are.” 


	3. Just Trying To Help

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: jealous kiss.

I don’t know why it got me so bothered, honestly. Nightingale doesn’t even  _like_  women that way, and it was perfectly obvious from the set of his shoulders that he was exercising every ounce of courtesy he possessed - the correct measurement is probably in pounds, if you’re wondering - to be polite to the woman. We were only in the tearooms at all because the Jag had suffered an unexpected mechanical failure not even a quarter of the way back from Devon. I’d gone to check on the repairs, and come back to find Nightingale being determinedly flirted at by a white Frenchwoman of about his own apparent age, a tourist at a guess. 

She leaned in and put a hand on his wrist. He caught my eye with a look of glazed desperation. The lady behind the counter glanced at them with an indulgent smile like Nightingale was lucky to be getting the attention, and I think that’s what ticked me off enough to intervene the way I did. 

I slid into the seat next to him, put  _my_  hand on his other arm, and leaned over for a quick peck - the kind you give a spouse or partner. I felt the tendons in his arm relax a little, and it somehow lasted longer than I meant it to. I guess the idea was to lend it veracity. 

Things you are not supposed to do as a police officer, no matter what sort of situation you’re trying to get out of: kiss your superior officer. 

“Car’ll be about another half an hour, and then we can still make it home by this evening,” I said, aiming for casual and only getting halfway. Hopefully she misread my irritation the right way. 

“Ah, excellent,” said Nightingale. The tourist withdrew her suit and sulked back to her own table. All according to plan. I’m not sure it was necessary for us to sit that close the rest of the time we were there, but he  _had_  looked pretty desperate, when I’d walked in. 

“Peter,” he said once we’d gotten back in the Jag, “were you - was that -”

“Just, you know,” I said. “Trying to help you out. Sorry if I overstepped.”

“No, no. You just looked rather - never mind.” 

I wondered what he meant by that, and then my mind decided to replay the - replay my intervention. In fairly specific detail. 

Oh. Fuck.


	4. A Morning Off

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: seductive kiss.

Peter liked to get up early and practice before breakfast, so Thomas was used - somewhat incredibly, still - to the feeling of him getting out of bed, while Thomas kept his eyes shut for another few minutes and let the news on the radio drift into his dreams. This morning, though, instead of the familiar shift and squeak of Peter’s body weight lifting off the mattress, Thomas felt a hand on his shoulder. 

“Mmmhmmmrmm?” he said, in hopes of indicating he still didn’t  _want_  to be awake. 

“Morning,” Peter said, and kissed him. Just a brush, at first, but when Thomas snuck a sleep-weighted arm around his shoulders, Peter rolled up against him and it got rather more serious. One of Peter’s hands started to wander, and Thomas - though still not properly awake - was awake enough to know where this was going. 

“Before practice?” he mumbled against Peter’s mouth. 

“Bank holiday,” said Peter, gasping out the end of it when Thomas mouthed at the line of his jaw. 

“Fair point,” Thomas replied, and they set about making the most of it.


	5. Under The Influence

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: drunk/sloppy kiss.

“Getting near to midnight,” Beverley told Peter. “Going to go find someone?” 

“Not for old time’s sake, Bev?” Peter grinned - he’d had a drink or two, Beverley reckoned. New Year’s parties lasted so much longer when you were hosting and had to stay semi-sober in case of trouble. She almost wished she’d given up and let Ty host after all, but that would _really_  have been dull. 

“You want to find someone to kiss for old time’s sake, how about Rom?” she teased; Peter went a little red around the ears. He’d never actually mentioned that to her, although she’d had it from four of her sisters before she’d even gotten back to town. But he laughed it off easily enough, so he knew she’d meant it in fun. 

“Nah, I’ll be all right,” he said, and strolled off without even the slightest unsteadiness. Maybe Beverley had overestimated how many he’d had after all. 

She reconsidered again at the stroke of midnight when she spotted the enthusiastic kiss he planted on Nightingale, but Nightingale didn’t seem to mind, so who knew what was going on, really. They’d certainly never have done  _that_  if Ty had run the party. 

“Trying new things for the new year?” she asked him an hour or so later, as the party was breaking up. He went red around the ears again, but smiled all the same. 

“Yeah,” he said. “Something like that." 


	6. Pas Devant Les Enfants

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And one extra for luck. Prompt: "I almost lost you" kiss. 
> 
> (In my head, this takes place in the same universe as Good Grammar + following stories, but no direct reference is made apart from there being apprentices.)

I held it together through the arrest, and the clean-up, and the cover-up - excuse me, plausible explanation for implausible events - mostly because of the apprentices. First rule of having subordinates: you can’t lose it in front of them. Not on the job. Anyway, Nightingale went off to perpetuate the cover-up at more senior levels; it was him I was mad at. Worried about. Mad about? Something. 

I held it together all the way back to the Folly, in fact, but when Nightingale walked in the back door with his left sleeve rolled up to keep it off the fresh bandage, the apprentices all found other places to be without either of us saying a word, so maybe I wasn’t holding it together after all. 

“I thought you’d gotten  _shot_  again,” I said. 

“Technically speaking…” He gestured at his arm. 

And that was it, really; I walked up and kissed him, a quick fierce thing, like it would provide some extra proof he was alive. The trouble with Nightingale no longer being the last wizard in England, see, is that he’s significantly less worried about his own safety. And people say  _I’m_ the impulsive one. 

“Just…don’t,” I said. “Please.”

Because he’s smart, he didn’t bother with any of the logical explanations. 

“I’ll do my best,” he said instead, and we stood there a moment, foreheads touching. 

Then we got back to work. 


	7. It's The Small Things

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompts: #7 ("I missed you" kiss) and #14 (kiss on the neck).

One of the reasons police so often end up marrying other police - or other shift workers - is the weird hours. You need somebody who accepts that sleeping in the same bed at the same time is a perk, not a prerequisite. That being said, it was more often than not me who ended up having to answer calls in the wee hours, for reasons of seniority or lack thereof. I hadn’t even noticed Nightingale getting up two nights ago; just found the note in the morning about having been called away to Aberdeen, and had to pass the message on to the apprentices at breakfast. (What was it about Aberdeen, anyway?) 

I did notice when he got back at two am the next day, because of the kiss he pressed to the back of my neck. I think he was trying not to wake me up. 

“You’re cold,” I mumbled. 

“I missed you too,” he said, but considerately didn’t try getting closer until his extremities had warmed up.

You laugh, but that’s the stuff lasting relationships are made of.

**Author's Note:**

> These stories were all written for [this](http://sixth-light.tumblr.com/post/133413272554/khirsahle-send-me-a-number-and-a-pairing-and) ask meme on Tumblr. The first is gen/canon-compliant, the rest are shippy. Tags apply to individual stories.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [[Podfic] Five Kisses](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13057029) by [momopods (momotastic)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/momotastic/pseuds/momopods)




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